


holiday greetings & gay happy meetings

by assassinactual



Series: endlessly upward [10]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 01:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinactual/pseuds/assassinactual
Summary: Root and Shaw get an unexpected, but not unwelcome visitor for the holidays.





	holiday greetings & gay happy meetings

Things Shaw expects to come home to: an empty apartment, probably. Root, with dinner waiting, if she’s lucky. Bear, if she’s very lucky. Root, plotting some new scheme, if she isn’t lucky at all. (Occasionally it’s all three at once, her luck in that case riding on whether Root’s schemes involve putting herself on the menu.)

Things Shaw most certainly does not expect to come home to, and in fact never even really considered: a pair of boots much too small to be either hers or Root’s waiting by the door. A backpack with some kind of fashionable logo on it that very clearly belongs to a teenager dropped carelessly by the table. Said teenager sprawled across her couch with her mess of curly blonde hair spilling off the end, watching some ridiculous Christmas movie on the TV.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Shaw demands.

The teenager, Gen, barely moves, only craning her neck a bit to look at her briefly. “Hey Shaw. Your girlfriend let me in.”

“Girlfriend?” Shaw asks, confused. She tries, and fails to, imagine Root conversing with Gen. Much less letting her into their apartment. Gen’s older now, a bit easier to hold a conversation with in Shaw’s opinion. But still definitely a kid. To Root, anyone under about twentyish is sort of like an annoying bug that is tremendously inconvenient to swat. Well, most people, really, but extra for kids.

“Yeah. Root, right? The one you’re always complaining about?”

“Did you actually meet her?” Shaw asks, beginning to get an idea. And beginning to plot an electronic murder.

“No, she called me after I used Mr Finch’s computer to get your address.” This, to Shaw, definitely indicates interference by her _favourite_ AI. Even directed by the Machine, getting Root to proactively call Gen would be a stretch. And Gen may be skilled, but there’s no way she would be able to get into one of Harold’s computers without help. (She makes sure to file this away for later; possibly to tell him the Machine is breaking into his systems, most likely to use against him if the opportunity arises.)

Shaw glances up at the nearest camera. “Are you going around telling people you’re my girlfriend now?”

_Just her. And Harold once, kind of. And Root and I talk about you._

“And you gave her the codes to get in?”

_Yeah. I used the proper guest ones!_

“Thanks,” Shaw says sarcastically.

 _You’re welcome!_ She replies, intentionally missing it.

Shaking her head at the Machine, Shaw notices Gen staring at her.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Remember how I told you my boss made a surveillance AI?” Gen nods. “That’s who.”

Gen, to her credit, and Shaw’s annoyance, is quick. “So you’re dating Root _and_ a computer?”

Shaw sighs, wondering if they still have a briefcase she can stuff the Machine into. She heads over to the couch, pushing Gens’s legs out of the way and sitting down. She watches the movie for about ten seconds before the cardboard cut-out of a love interest gets on her nerves. She redirects her attention to the Christmas tree, which looks suspiciously more sparkly than it did this morning.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I just kinda started living with her and never really wanted to leave,” Shaw admits. Talking to Gen isn’t so bad. She gets Shaw more than most people, she accepts her as she is, and doesn’t push her too hard – not unlike Root, really. “She was already sort of… attached to the Machine.”

“Attached?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Okay!” Gen says, then quickly changes the subject. “What’s with all the Christmas crap?”

“Root does it. She thinks it annoys me or something.” Shaw looks around, frowning. The tree, and the more overtly Christmassy decorations were mostly added around the start of the month, but a lot of it was already there. “Actually, most of the lights have been up since last year.”

Shaw happens to look at the TV again. She watches a bit longer, her attention drawn not by the bland characters but the treats they’re baking. It’s almost tolerable if she just focuses on the food. Disappointingly, the scene quickly ends. Shaw remembers what she meant to ask Gen before. “What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be with Harold?”

“He’s boring. He wouldn’t even let John show me to clean his gun.”

“But you already know how to do that.” It was actually one of the first things Shaw taught her, when Shaw was benched with an injured ankle and Harold reintroduced them almost three years after she first saved Gen.

“They don’t know that.”

“How long are you staying here?”

Gen shrugs. “Until Mr Finch tracks me down, I guess. They reopen the school on the first, but I have to go back a day or two early to break into the office. Some of the files are still hardcopy only.”

Shaw nods. It’s not like her and Root celebrate or have any really specific plans. Well, except Christmas dinner – Root acquired a turkey somehow, and Christmas Day is meant to be Shaw’s day off – which isn’t a problem.

With food on her mind, and the movie once again showing lingering shots of baked goods, Shaw decides to not let herself get drawn back in. She jumps up, heading for the kitchen to look for some food. There should be leftover pizza, she thinks.

While she’s taking it out of the fridge, she hears the door open behind her.

“Honey, I’m home!” Root calls as she comes in. Shaw ignores her.

A few seconds later, after she’s set the container down on the counter, she feels hands on her waist spinning around. Root’s right there, in her space, in her face, kissing her.

“Merry Kissmas!” she says after they break apart. Her arms stay wrapped around Shaw though. She feels nice – solid and real. Shaw makes no move to get away. Suddenly, though, Root shifts.

“Um, hi?” Root says tentatively.

Shaw disentangles herself from Root to see what’s going on.

Gen scrutinizes Root, then eventually gives her a curt, skeptical nod. Root is still lost, looking back and forth from Gen to Shaw.

“Root, Gen. Gen, Root,” Shaw says, quickly introducing them.

“So this is your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s what she calls herself.” She says it almost dismissively, but bumps her hip against Root’s as she does.

Root makes a noise of protest and Shaw just pats her on the shoulder. “Um,” Root says again.

“She’s staying here for the holidays because Harold is boring,” Shaw supplies.

“Um,” Root says once more, still not really knowing what to do with this. Shaw rolls her eyes, then stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses Root quickly.

“You’ll live,” she says, pulling away.

 

Later, after Root has retreated to their bedroom, Harold calls.

“Miss Shaw, I apologize for – “

“You lost the kid?”

“Well – yes. I assume she’s with you?”

“Yep. She said you were ‘boring’ so the Machine let her in to my place.”

“I – “

“Whatever. She’s fine. Do you need her for anything?”

“No. I was actually going to change some plans so – “

“Go do your thing. She can stay here for now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No, no, if you’re sure – “

“I am,” Shaw says, cutting him off again, then hanging up.

 

“You can sleep in –” Shaw says, opening the door to the spare bedroom. There is an actual bed, just inside the door to the left, though it has a rifle case on it. Along the wall opposite the bed is a long table. A monitor and a workstation are set up at one end, the mostly bare aside from some scattered tools and a partially disassembled drone. Past the bed, by the window, are their weapon lockers, and a large safe tucked in the corner. Scattered around are various ammunition crates and boxes. “– um, here. Or on the couch,” she offers, at Gen’s skeptical look.

“Do I have to cuddle with the rifle if I sleep in here?”

She grabs the case and slides it under the bed. “There. You good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gen says absentmindedly, glancing at the bed as she looks around the rest room.

“Right, well, there’s more blankets and pillows and stuff in the closet if you need it.” Shaw retreats halfway to the door, then pauses. “I’m going in to work at 8 tomorrow. Her,” she jerks her thumb in the direction of her and Rot’s bedroom, “or the robot should be able to help you with anything you need.” She lingers awkwardly for another moment, then nods. “G’night,” she mumbles, then makes her exit.

“Night, Shaw,” she hears Gen say quietly as she’s pulling the door shut behind her.

 

Root wakes up first the next morning. She’s already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when Shaw shuffles across the kitchen. She absentmindedly grunts in Root’s direction, focusing solely on the coffee machine.

She sits down across from Root once she’s fixed herself a cup. She sips her coffee, mostly staring down into the cup or out the window over Root’s shoulder. After several minutes pass, she finally makes eye contact with Root.

“Why haven’t you introduced us?” Root asks.

“You don’t like kids.”

“ _You_ don’t like kids.”

Shaw shrugs. “Gen’s cool.”

Root studies her. Shaw imagines she’s going over all of her limited interaction with Gen, and what little Shaw has told her, and trying to work out how the two of them fit together. This is the thing with Root: talking to her is actually tolerable, but she understands Shaw well enough that it’s often not really necessary. Shaw just needs to point her in the right direction, and she usually gets there.

After a long silence, Root nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I trust your judgement, Sameen. If you like her, I want to get to know her.”

Shaw nods. “Well, you’ll have time today. I’m working.”

She tries to hide her amusement and Root’s deer in the headlights look, really.

 

When she gets home, Root and Gen are sitting at opposite ends of the couch, both with laptops open in their laps. At first, she thinks they’re both doing their own thing and ignoring each other, which isn’t all that surprising.

Until Root asks, “Did you get it?”

“Yeah, it worked just like you said.”

“Okay, so we can use that to get back into the database and get the records you were looking for.”

They go back and forth like this for a while. Root instructing Gen, leading her, and Gen following, obviously quite capable at what she’s doing. They seem to be entirely oblivious to her presence.

“Hi?”

“Hey Shaw,” Gen greets her without looking up. Root does, though. She smiles and tries to wink a Shaw, then looks back down at her computer.

“What the hell?” Shaw asks, mostly at the Machine. She doesn’t get an answer from any of them. She’s pleased that Root and Gen seem to be getting along though.

When she’s finished telling Gen something, Root gets up. As she passes Shaw, she whispers in her ear “What, are you worried about me converting your mini-me to the dark side?”

“Pfft. The dork side, maybe.”

 

The next day – Christmas Day – Root produces a trio of horrific sweaters after breakfast. Gen gleefully accepts hers, then copies Root’s ridiculous pouty face at Shaw as she tries to ignore them. Eventually, she relents, grabs the sweater off the table and pulls it on over her tank top just to get them to stop.

They spend the rest of the morning baking a variety of cookies. John shows up around noon to drop Bear off, and while Shaw is distracted petting him, Root hands a box full of their cookies to John. Shaw looks back and forth between them, her eyes narrowed.

“Thanks?” John says, confused, and looking anxious to get out of range of Shaw.

“She said you might need those later,” Root explains.

“Right, I should…” John nods down the hall, then vanishes out the door.

Shaw, still kneeling in front of Bear, fixes her gaze solely on Root now.

“What?” Root asks.

“You just gave away our cookies.”

“Can’t I get in the spirit of the season?”

“I have seen you literally take candy from a baby.”

“He had it coming,” Root mumbles. “Look Sameen, we still have like five dozen – “

“And we would’ve had even more if you hadn’t just given those away. Whichever one of you two,” she points at Root, vaguely in the direction of her right ear, “is responsible for this owes me like thirty cookies.”

Root starts to argue further, but stops suddenly, the Machine clearly transmitting instructions. “Fine,” they relent, “we’ll make you some more cookies. But if you get sick eating all these, that’s on you.”

“Hah, as if.”

(She doesn’t get sick, but she does end up taking a nap on the couch after the put the turkey in.)

 

Later, after eating too much for supper and even more baked goods, Root and Shaw are sprawled out on the couch and Gen in one of the chairs. Bear is also curled up in front of the couch, and Die Hard is playing on the TV. None of them seem inclined to move any time soon.

“That was like, probably the best Christmas ever,” Gen says.

“Yeah, it was definitely up there,” Root replies.

Shaw grunts in agreement. She then lamely swats at Root’s feet as she attempts to rub them against Shaw’s legs, not wanting to be distracted from the movie.

 

A couple days later, when Shaw is getting ready to go to work, Gen is getting dressed to go out to.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, meeting someone from school.” Gen says, very believably.

“Right,” Shaw says, not bothering to push, trusting the Machine to intervene if she gets into something truly dangerous. “Today should be a quick one, call me later if you want some backup.”

“Sure.”

Shaw does up her coat, and habitually pats her pockets, checking all her weapons and tools are in place. “You armed?” she asks Gen.

“I’m fourteen.” Shaw just gives her a look, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah, I’ve got a taser and a switchblade,” she admits.

“Know how to use ‘em?”

“ _Don’t carry a weapon you don’t know how to use properly_ ,” Gen recites dutifully.

“Good,” Shaw says, nodding, then heads out the door.

 

Gen ends up not calling her, because Shaw runs into her.

It’s the screaming that catches her attention as she’s on her way to get coffee after dealing with a number. She runs into an alley, and finds Gen standing partially hidden behind a dumpster. She scans the alley, with one hand on the butt of her gun. But she relaxes when the only thing out of the ordinary seems to be another pair of feet sticking out from behind the dumpster, belonging to someone laying on the ground beside it.

Gen isn’t surprised or startles when Shaw approaches, noticing her but not taking her focus off the person at her feet. A teenage boy, a few years older than Gen, rolling around and groaning in pain. Gen has a taser in her hands, the darts already expended.

“Now, Bobby, that’s not very helpful,” she says sweetly with a sinister undertone while the taser crackles to life in her hand. The boy twitches and groans some more, looking like he’s trying to drag himself away.

“Better hit him again,” Shaw says.

“I want him to be able to talk.”

“Can’t make him talk if he gets away,” Shaw points out.

“True,” Gen admits. She crouches down, jabs the taser into his leg and squeezes the trigger. He jerks, screams again, then loses consciousness. “Hmm. Might’ve overdid it a bit.” She kicks him lightly with the toe of her boot, getting no response.

“The low setting?”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be fine in an hour or two. Trust me, I know.” Shaw crouches down to get a closer look at Gen’s victim. “Who is this anyway?”

“Some mob boss’ kid. He’s an asshole.”

“Mob boss? Am I going to have save you again?”

“Nah, his dad would probably thank me for this. He’s a bully, but he’s also a wuss. _‘My father will hear about this!’_ ” she says in a shrill, mocking voice. “This’ll probably be good for him. Well, mostly for me.”

“You done with him?” Shaw asks. She noticed a couple cops patrolling on the way here, and would rather not deal with them if possible.

“Yeah, I mostly just needed to scan his ID, really.” Gen kicks him again, harder than before. “Okay, now I’m done.”

“You just leaving him there?”

“Yes?” she says, wondering if she’s made a mistake.

“Alright, let’s go,” Shaw replies, confirming Gen’s plan is sound.

The leave the alley quickly, then both adopt a carefully casually demeanour as they blend into the crowd. They both ignore the pair of cops they pass before the end of the block, and the commotion as the help the boy in alley.

 

Gen leaves on the 29th. Shaw offers to drive her, but she has plans of her own to take the bus, so her and Root settle on escorting Gen to the bus station.

While they’re waiting for Root, Shaw pulls out a poorly wrapped package and offers it to Gen. “Merry Christmas, or whatever,” she says gruffly.

“Thanks?” she replies, tearing it open apprehensively. “A phone?”

“One of the ones we use. Connects to our encrypted network, has all our malware apps and shit. It can hack into pretty much any network on its own, so you don’t need to pay for service. Root can explain everything better if you need help.”

“Cool.” For a second, it looks like Gen might try to hug her. She thinks better of it and gives her a little nod. “Thanks, Shaw.”

Root comes out then, and stops in the hallway, studying them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Shaw and Gen say, almost exactly in sync.

 

They end up back at the library after dropping her off, checking in to see if their needed for anything.

“I think I’m actually going to miss her. You know,” Root says faux casually as she pretends to fiddle with a laptop Harold left out on his desk, “we should get one of our own.”

Now, obviously she’s playing; just trying to get a rise out of Shaw. They both know it. But that doesn’t mean Shaw can’t get her back.

“Hmm, yeah. We should.”

Root chokes and splutters. She pushes off the desk to spin the chair around, but does it a bit too hard. She spins right past facing Shaw, back around to the desk, then slowly into Shaw’s direction once more before stopping herself.

She relaxes somewhat seeing the faint smirk on Shaw’s lips, but still dramatically slaps a hand over her heart. “God, Sameen. Don’t fucking do that to me.”

“It’s your own damn fault. Now, if you’re over your urge to acquire a child, can we get back home? We’ll have the place to ourselves now, and I want to unwrap my present.”


End file.
